Everyman's Triptych

They want to roll up their sleeves
and get the job done.
I leave my sleeves down
and have a little fun.
And I still do
what needs to be done,
but I do it without getting scuff marks on my boots
or a bruise on my jawbone.
It's like some young buck
thinks he can manage me,
when I toss him like a bean bag
when he tries to damage me.
But I don't really think
it'll come to that.
They have no heart
because they don't even know where their heart is at:
It's getting eaten up
by an array of lies.
It's rotting in a warzone
amidst a swarm of flies.


So, they run in circles
doing the same thing,
caught in the cycle,
Karma sticks to them like static cling.
I could bob and weave
and do the rope a dope,
but they're not even close enough to hit me
or understand this trope.
I could swing and toss them
down the slope
like they did to me
just before they tossed me a rope.
Little did I know
the rope was a noose.
That's why these days
I just find ways to cut the rope loose.

II.

I've got tricks up my sleeves,
but my cuffs are too tight.
I've got grits in the pantry
but no snack at mid-night.
Though, at the hour of twelve
that's when shit hits the fan,
they try to talk me out of it,
but their mouths are full of marzipan.
A sweet trick will flick me
off like fleas.
No word, no gesture, no offer
will appease.
They still can't figure out
exactly what I'm doing
because their mouths are still full of tricks
and they can't stop chewing.

I'm still struggling
to get the rope loose.
I'm still getting choked
by the threads of the noose.
It's tearing me up
and cutting off my wind.
No second wind, in fact, no wind,
and there's an ambulance around the bend.

They take a snapshot
and hang it on the wall,
like a dangling brown body they cut loose
to watch it fall.
A safety harness crushed my ribs
and cut off my air,
like the noose tossed my way
with the pretense of care.
There's no way to save a man
that you've set up for demise,
thrown out with your lies
in a war zone amidst a swarm of flies.

III.

I saw the signs
and I saw you coming.
When that kind of thing happens,
my brain waves start humming.
Drumming war beats
like treats for the cannon.
I see no escape
so I start to think like Frantz Fanon.

I asked Mary Magdalene
if she'd go on this ride.
We both knew they'd shoot us down
like they did Bonnie and Clyde.
If we were Mary Magdala
and Christ Jesus,
we'd see what would happen
when we got in front of Pontius.
We all know Pontius Pilate
was as guilty as sin
and that's the same cycle of karma
that I said they were in.

You're coming again
and I snap the rope loose,
land on my feet
and return the bloody noose.
Maybe Jesus
should have knocked out his executioners,
knocked them out with the crucifix
to let them see what real retribution is.

I understand
turning the other cheek.
But when I turn that cheek,
I swing back hard for the low and the meek.
If crucifixion
brings about re-birth,
then I'm going to sprinkle these judges
with the Salt of the Earth.

The lion and the lamb
both see through the sham,
the scam, the lie, the reason why
a good man says God Damn.

Body slam false prophets,
I've got persecution complexities,
intricacies of miseries, mysteries
and scars on all my extremities.

You remember me now.
You can't figure it out or figure out how,
but you left me for dead
over at Dachau.

You bleached out my skin
and put me up there to sing.
You shot me on the balcony
after I called for freedom to ring.

You got me working
and control what I'm doing,
marzipan in your mouth
you just keep chewing.

Sweet treats and sweet lies,
you despise me, bury me,
treat me as a suspect
and approach me warily.

You're scared of me,
because you know what you've done.
You roll up your sleeves,
I leave mine down and have a little fun.

It's like some fool
still thinks he can manage me.
It's been done, by noose, cross, book, bomb, and gun.
It's too late to damage me.

What are you trying for?
More of your war?
It's been done before too,
and it won't work anymore.

Never did...

Never did...